


Illusions

by cowboykylux



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dark Magic, F/M, Magic acts, Magician Kylo Ren, Mild Gore, Occult, magic show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: The line moves quickly as thunder cracks, as lightning illuminates the inky black alleys, as working class people on their night off shuffle into the theater. Sixpence was an easy price to pay, and nearly all could afford it – and nearly all did, and nearly all showed up, waited with bated breath for admission, waited to see him.Kylo Ren the Incredible, the Magical, the Great.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Illusions

Oil lamps flicker and flare along the damp street lamps, as boots and heels scuff cobblestone. Horses whinny in the rain, chuff and neigh as their masters urge them down the streets, down down down towards the theater, the only bright attraction in this dull corner of London.

The line moves quickly as thunder cracks, as lightning illuminates the inky black alleys, as working class people on their night off shuffle into the theater. Sixpence was an easy price to pay, and nearly all could afford it – and nearly all did, and nearly all showed up, waited with bated breath for admission, waited to see him.

Kylo Ren the Incredible, the Magical, the Great.

The crowd murmurs in their seats, just beyond the red velvet drapes. They are thick and lined with fringe of gold, that had been your choice, your request. Nothing spoke of an enchanting beginning to an extraordinary evening, than velvet drapes. It is a full house, this evening showing sold out, and quiet excitement thrills you as you twist and stretch in your outfit.

Kylo is at your throat, as he always tends to be. His white gloves grasping at your breast, as he sucks a mark just below your ear, hums into your pulse. You grin, he’s excited about this show, has a new act, has a new means to dazzle and amaze – and tonight is its debut.

“The show begins soon,” You warn, doing nothing to dissuade him from ravishing you, “Darling you must go to your mark.”

“In a moment, I’ll go in a moment.” He murmurs, making you laugh enough that you must stifle the sound of it, for the music is dying down. When the music ends, the show begins, and truly, Kylo must get to his mark.

Yet he still buries his face into your tits, takes a deep breath of the sweet powdered perfume you laid there, makes you smile. The scar which splits his face shines in the low lamp-light, before he is nothing more than a puff of smoke, making you roll your eyes once again. You’re immune to his charms, you know all his tricks. Or do you?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kylo’s voice surrounds the theater, and the crowd goes deathly still as they try to pinpoint how who what where why – “I welcome you, to our show.”

The curtains open to an empty stage, although it only remains empty for a moment, only for an instant, before sparks fly from the floor and when the fireworks have settled there he is, there is your Kylo. The crowd gasps, and you can see from just beyond the wings of the stage, that Kylo quirks a grin.

For an hour he dazzles them, card tricks and illusions that get them enchanted, get them entranced. Kylo pulls coins from the ears of small children in the audience and makes them laugh, gives the coins to the children whom Kylo knows have never held one of such worth before. He pulls doves from his top hat, materializes eggs and ribbons from thin air, and you sit in the wings and enjoy the way that the crowd oos and ahhs, for surely such feats are impossible. 

But then, then it is time for this new trick, then it is time for you.

He introduces you to the stage, and the crowd sits up a little straighter in their seats, watches as your fishnet clad legs stalk across to where Kylo stands at center stage. You push out a great big box on wheels, and the crowd gasps, because what could possibly be inside?

“Marvelous, isn’t she? My beautiful wife.” Kylo says, so softly that almost no one can hear it, says it just for you. He turns to the audience then as you set up the act, as you open the box and reveal that there is nothing inside. “You know my good people, sometimes I think she’s so incredible, I wish I could have two of her.”

You smile, before climbing into the box, waving to the audience before Kylo closes the box onto you, so that only your head and legs are exposed.

“In fact, tonight I think I just might get my wish.” Kylo says, as he spins the box around to show the audience that there are no strings to this trick.

Your heart pounds, you hope it works, you hope the illusion is a success.

The audience gasps when Kylo pulls out a great big saw – cartoonish almost, in its size and shape. The saw’s teeth are razor sharp, or so they appear. The audience doesn’t know, they are on the edge of their seats.

Kylo opens the door of the boxes so your body is visible through the little glass windows, and somewhere out in the theater, a child asks if you’re going to be alright. He then closes the doors, and begins to saw through you, begins to hack into your body.

You scream, deliciously and loud, as the crack snap pop of your flesh and bone make the audience cover their eyes, their ears, their mouths. Kylo grins like a maniac, like some unhinged monster, as he saws into you, all the way through to the very bottom.

“Do you think we got her?” Kylo asks the audience as he removes the saw, “I’m not so sure.”

He inserts more blades through the center of the box, by now the crowd is shouting, hollering, demanding to know what he thinks he’s doing. You try not to laugh at their rage on your behalf.

He pushes apart the two halves of the box, wheels them each around so that the audience can see you are fully cut in half, contained in each section. 

Your legs kick on one end of the stage, your body writhes on the other. There are shocked gasps, children standing up to get a better look only for their parents to yank them back down into their seat again, as Kylo spins the two halves of your body independently. 

“Kylo!” You shout, mock-angry and not in any pain at all, “Kylo put me back together this instance!”

“But darling I was just having a little fun.” Kylo playfully responds, stunning the audience.

How are you not dead? They saw the blades stick into your body, they heard the crunch of your bones. How are you still berating him, how are you still alive?

“My foot itches.” You complain, and one of your legs kicks dramatically, making them laugh, reminding them that this is nothing more than some incredible trick.

“As you wish my dear, I shall stitch your body together before all these good people, so that they may bear witness to our greatness.” Kylo rounds up the two boxes once more, fits them together.

He waves his hands over them, and all the latches and clasps pop and snap together. He pulls out all the blades, the saws and swords. You give a loud moan or two for good measure, the relief of your limbs attached once more flooding through you. 

And then, the box is opened, and out you climb, and the audience has their jaws dropped.

You bend and twist your body around, showing them all that there’s not a mark on you – well, not one caused by swords at least, lest they look too close to your throat. And when you’re in Kylo’s arms once more, when you strike your pose as the music crescendos to an end, the crowd roars with applause.

It is the most remarkable thing they have ever seen, the most incredible, the most confounding, the most astounding thing – and they do not know how to process it other than with raucous applause.

The spotlight shines on you and your man, your Kylo, as you take your bows, as he thanks the audience for their attendance, as they ask for more more more beyond the spill of light. They call your names and throw roses at your feet, a simple thanks for transporting them to a world so much more fascinating than their own.

When the last of the crowd has gone, when all that remains is fog and the eerie crank of music, when there’s murmurs on the streets of _how did they do that?_ Kylo grins against your mouth, licks across your teeth, holds you close in silent gratitude, in an embrace tighter than your corset.

And as the red velvet drapes close, you cast a gaze to the empty seats, the echoes of their cheers lofting in the rafters. Kylo snaps his wrist and the lamps blow out and you can’t help but roll your eyes fondly at this man, this man you so adore, with all his occultist tendencies, with all his supernatural powers.

Or were they supernatural at all? You don’t know.

After all, a magician never reveals his secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt:
> 
> Magician!Kylo?!? This could be set any time, but I picture it in the Victorian era where occultism is high! Tall, dark, very dark, handsome, definitely mysterious and can hypnotize you with a touch or a glance! Fog, firelight, darkness, decadence, horse drawn carriage sex lol. Lots of possibilities!


End file.
